


Ascension

by captainecchi



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainecchi/pseuds/captainecchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Integra recalls what brave little girls have to do to ascend to power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For What Slight Thing You Are Betrayed

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is over a decade old, and I'm reposting it from ff.net. The best thing I can say about it is: it was responsible for getting me back into writing after a long absence. Please don't judge my abuse of semi-colons, badly-written gunplay, and fondness for Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry too poorly.

_What he never told me was, once given, I would have to give and give again_

I slumped to the floor, suddenly feeling the pain in my shoulder, feeling hazy, and not so very brave, after all. The gun in my hand I set to the side; I wasn't completely convinced that the need for it had passed, but it was at least less pressing.

We were still in the room where it had all begun, the warded door hanging open and admitting scant light. We sat across from each other, our backs against opposite walls, the edge of his booted foot barely trespassing in the light. Between us, was the blood. Mine, some of it; but most of it coming from three cooling bodies. Mark it, one of those a _familiar_ body.

I turned my head away from those, pulling my skirt over my knees in a defensive motion, but it was too hard to look him straight in the eye like that. And he was looking at me as if he expected directness, smiling that Cheshire cat smile--a spooky smile, when I didn't know to take it as a given.

He looked away finally, leaned his head back against the stones of the wall, and closed his eyes. "They're coming."

"Hrm?" I hadn't expected him to have anything to say to me. I didn't think there was a fine conclusion to his licking my blood off the floor, saving my life, and then proceeding to state his inevitable bond to me as the leader of Hellsing. But surprises abound today, apparently.

"They're on the second floor. They'll be here to get you cleaned up in a bit." He looked at me, surprised at my lack of reaction. "You should be glad."

As glad as any to be "rescued," but I was a little bit too focused on the wound in my shoulder at the moment. Had the bullet gone cleanly through? Was it lodged in the bone? Normal little thirteen year old girl questions, I'm sure.

 _You don't want to die now, do you?_ he had coaxed me. He could have saved me the bullet in the shoulder and been a little less dramatic. But the blood needed be shed, and here the old saying about spilt milk applies.

So I gritted my teeth, and determined to make conversation as best a bleeding thirteen year old could.

"Alucard." He raised an eyebrow. I laughed roughly at the joke in the name. "Got a last name?" He gave me an unamused look, and I replied to my own question with, "Guess you don't need one, with a name like that." I continued the inane prattle. "And how long have you been alive?"

"You seem to forget that I'm not."

I nodded. "My mistake. Then how old are you?"

"Older than you."

Silence. Finally, I asked what had been on my mind all along. "And you're going to help us?"

If he had seemed distracted before, now he paid attention. "If you ask nicely."

"And what do you want from me?"

"I already have what I want." He had said it; _Your blood woke me after twenty years_ , and though I was young, I wasn't fool enough to forget that.

I felt at the wound on my shoulder, feeling the pain pulling at me, coaxing me further into retreat. _So very young, and so very weak._ And tired. Would it always be like this?

I drifted.

There was a shuffle at the end of the hall, loud enough to wake me from dozing. I lifted my head; heard sounds of footsteps on stairs and low-pitched voices.

They were at the door; they were rushing to MY side. I am still fuzzy on who it was, exactly; someone careful, and deliberate, who hushed me and pushed back the cloth at my shoulder, examined the wound, but someone otherwise unmemorable. They were saying words, and I didn't know what. I caught sympathy, though: "First her father, then this. Poor dear."

Still he was there, on the other side of the room, standing now; and really looking more like a monster of shadows than ever, red eyes poking out of the death's head. My "rescuers" had no doubt seen the violence wrought here; but they were careless; they would have been so complacent had they had noticed that the source of it were still around.

Then they noticed. They were suddenly all scrambling to share the wall with me, both sharing the look of... well, the look of unarmed men cornered by a vampire, who realized a bleeding girl with a gun might be their best hope.

"We should have brought along guns," one managed, more calmly than the other.

"Fuck tha', should ha' brought along Walter."

But he was still looking at me. "What do you make of them, Miss Hellsing? Seems there's a lesson in this, one your father didn't learn. Those who keep their pets behind locked doors are the ones scared when they escape."

Considering that was more words than he had spoken heretofore, and my current state, I understandably declined to reply. He laughed.

But he held back, retreated into the shadows, looking positively delighted with himself and disappointed with me.

One of my "rescuers" looked back down at me. "Can you walk, Lady Integra?"

I nodded. I thought I could at least, and I managed a stumbling rush to my feet. Not surprisingly, I was more than a little dizzied by the effort. One of them took my hand, for a guide. "Come on. We'll get Walter down here--"

"No. Not Walter," I said quietly.

They looked surprised. _He_ looked surprised. I gave him a hint of a smile. "I'm just keeping my word."

"You gave me no word of anything."

"I might as well have. I lived." _And blood was word enough._

I reached out a hand, to coax him to come along after me. He chuckled at me, and stepped after me, looked amused enough to whistle. " 'This door you might not open, and you did,' " he quoted. "Miss Hellsing."


	2. Housebred Killer

Though I summoned him to meet with me, once I was healed, it appeared he was going to pick his own time--and way--of arriving.

Namely, two evenings after I called him, and phasing in through the ceiling of my father's--my--office.

Being unexperienced in his taste for the dramatic just yet, I shrieked. He dropped to the floor, more solid now, and laughed at me. "I thought you'd find that interesting."

Interesting wasn't really the word I was thinking at the moment. If I had more colorful words in mind, though, I didn't speak them. "You surprised me," I said simply. The portfolio I had been holding had been rumpled in my startled grasp, and I smoothed it out on the desk in front of me. These were his orders for the evening, delivered to me by Walter. _Would have been much better if Walter had delivered them himself._ But I suppose that would have been shirking duty.

"You did call me, and here I am." He bowed, with a flourish. " _My Master._ " He took a seat at one of the chairs in front of the desk.

I didn't comment on his punctuality, or lack thereof. "You have work."

He smiled. It was a vicious smile, fangs and all. "Already? How lovely." He leaned back in the chair, setting his feet on my desk. "I'll need my weapon back, then, I suppose."

"Weapon?" It hadn't occurred to me that he needed any kind of weapon. He had certainly dealt well enough with my late uncle's armed guards without one. "I suppose Walter would know about that."

Walter did, indeed, know about that. Once called, he arrived bearing a case, which he set next to the chair where Alucard sat. "The Casull, Lord Alucard."

Alucard raised his eyebrows at the title. "Now I'm 'Lord'?" he mused.

I dismissed Walter, and Alucard had further to say on the matter of title. "Your servants, Miss Hellsing, learn quickly about the new regime."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He laughed at my naivete. "I assure you, had he met me yesterday, the circumstances would have been very different." He lifted the case at his feet to his lap, and started to brush years of dust from it. I daresay he even looked a bit mournful in this movement. "Who do you think helped to put me in my prison, twenty years ago?" he murmured.

I hadn't thought about that, admittedly. That Walter had been involved had hardly crossed my mind; but I supposed he must have. It was doubtful--even having only seen little of Alucard's power--that anyone else could have done the job. And I had forgotten, hadn't I, that Walter had been Hellsing's most dangerous soldier for years before he was ever its steward.

He opened the case, revealing the dull gleam of gun metal. He chuckled, a throaty sound. "Even in the human world, some good things never change." He set the case back on the floor, sitting back to admire the weapon. "I admit, it's a weak weapon. But I've grown the slightest bit attached to human things."

I was, I knew as I knew before, in the presence of a creature whose motivations I couldn't guess, and I began to see his danger, weapon or no. "Why did he put you there? My father, I mean."

He was playing with the gun now, pulling back the hammer and letting it snap home with a satisfying click. Certainly, it was as of yet unloaded, but it still set me on edge. My imagination was at fault, I knew; it was only because I didn't know what to expect from him that I feared. Still focused on the Casull, he replied, "Your father got scared when he realized that pets need to be fed, to learn the proper gratitude due their masters. And rather than paying the cost, he locked me up and hoped I would go away." Again the vicious smile. "But I didn't go away. Lucky for you."

I was mute. Still, he seemed to know the direction of my thoughts, and continued, "It takes a lot more than famine to destroy me." Turning an eye away from the gun, he fixed it on me. "I hope you will remember that, Miss Hellsing."

He hadn't painted a flattering picture of my father, and coming so close to his death, I didn't find it easy to hear. I turned my face away from Alucard, suddenly acutely aware of that eye fixed on me. I was overwhelmed again, by the acute pain of loss, and the duty that had so quickly followed, and it was a feeling I scarcely wanted him to witness.

I must have showed some grief on my face, despite my efforts, for his facial expression softened. His regret was almost human. "I forget how vulnerable your kind is," he said more softly, now. "We'll talk of these things later."

He turned back to the task at hand, loading the Casull. I saw his retreat for what it was, a chance I was given to regain my dignity. He fairly whistled as he went about the task of cleaning and loading the weapon. The almost-childlike glee he felt at the prospect of killing disturbed me. Seeking to reclaim myself, I asked, "Why do you do this for us? You seem to enjoy killing your own kind."

"They're not _my_ kind," he fairly snarled. "And of course I enjoy it. I _enjoy_ killing. I seem to be rather talented at it." The fact that this was clearly not what I wanted to hear did not deter him. "But I'm housebred. I won't get blood on the carpets." He seemed to find this, and my discomfort, riotously funny.

I failed to laugh along, perhaps because I didn't find the idea of killing very funny at all, after the past few days. I merely sat, waiting for him to finish his task.

He stood when he had finished, seeming to enjoy catching the gleam of the moonlight on the Casull. With enthusiasm rare even in Hellsing's elite, he asked, "Tell me what I'll be doing tonight, _My Master._ "

Mutely, I handed the portfolio to him. I hadn't bothered to read the case file it contained. The orders had been passed down from the Round Table, to Walter, and then, to me; and something in that chain of command implied that my input was not desired. I hadn't been doing this for long enough to question that pecking order just yet.

The Casull disappeared into the folds of his coat, along with the scraps of portfolio; he, however, chose to leave in a more mundane way than he had arrived. I hardly expected to hear more from him once he passed the threshold of the door, but I heard, echoed in my head:

_I won't indulge your youth with niceties. Never forget what I am._


	3. The Girl Who Could Not Sleep at Night

It was midnight, when--as they say--all good little girls in London should be tucked into their beds. I lay awake, unsure why I still tried to keep up this charade of normalcy. A month, and no pain dulled. Only duty; numbingly quiet duty as of yet. When rest was offered on these nights, I took it, but more and more sleep evaded me.

And so I lay awake, stretches of time becoming interminable, the night suddenly become more eerie, the day more a far-off dream.

I thought of my father, mostly. How well that he did not live to see blood on his daughter's hands. There is this law, _thou shalt not kill_ and I had failed it, and it galled me, at night. When I dreamt, I dreamt that he knew of my sin, and his eternal shame.

(How silly I was then, how silly, to not know better of my duty, and the blood that it was steeped in. What a fine brew, indeed).

 _I am no one's little girl._ And that still stung. I was still too young to fend for myself.

(How quickly, how quickly, I would learn).

This night was no different. Silence. Unblinking moon. And the thought parade, making its dreary way across my grey matter.

_Little girls don't have to kill. Little girls don't have to lie awake like this._

This little girl, I knew, had somewhere gone wrong. But stumble back across the path though I might, I couldn't find another way; not even the illusion of choice. Only _kill or be killed._

Or, let the monster do the work for me. Oh, perhaps; put the taint instead on his soul, not mine. I suspect his immortal soul was endangered long ago, anyway. But it wasn't _his_ uncle, and it wasn't _his_ duty.

 _Brave little princesses have to do some frightening things to take the throne,_ I heard echoed in my head. I felt the buzzing that accompanied it, like the milling of a thousand ants inside my skull, and knew the voice as Alucard's.

"Nosy, aren't we?" I replied aloud.

_I don't believe you've got much to hide._

True enough, that. We shared the same business now--killing vampires--and in that, there were no secrets between us.

He laughed in reply to my thought. His placelessness unnerved me. For all I knew he was the voice of my own madness. _You cut a fine Prince of Denmark, my liege._ Again the murmur of laughter, the buzzing of the ants. _I'm in these fine accomodations you've secured for me._ An image flashed in my head of the dim basement room he had chosen as his own. _I wanted to invite you out to play._

"Play?" My, Walter would think me mad if he saw me addressing the darkness.

_You don't seem to be sleeping, after all. Come down to the firing range. I'll teach you some things._

I was silent, considering.

 _The girl who can't sleep at night... already you've become like the creatures you hunt._ It was an afterthought on his part, but something in it jarred me to action.

"Why not?" I replied. Already I was climbing out of bed and back into yesterday's clothes.

I found the firing range empty and dark. Even our soldiers didn't train at this hour. I felt ineplicably nervous to see it so abandoned, all the same. What, had I expected Alucard to throw on the lights and make the place cozy for me?

But then, I didn't expect to languish in the dark. I reached for the lights, but my hand only met air. A little closer to the switch, then. And then, I was touching something cold like marble and yet smooth like flesh, and I drew back, heart suddenly taking a leap, as if I had fallen into an ambush.

Which, at the moment, I wasn't sure I hadn't.

I heard him laugh, and the light switched on a moment later. He had been crouched against the wall beside the door, that irksome hat pulled down over his eyes. _Silly Victorian affectation._ Even squatting he was about at hand level with me. "Take a care not to poke out my eyes next time, Miss Hellsing. It would sting. Just a little."

I nodded, and held my ground; a steady meter between us. I hadn't seen him without my desk between us since the interesting circumstances under which we had met.

He rose, gestured towards the rows of targets. "Are you ready?"

I looked around questioningly. "Don't I need a weapon?"

"Hmph." A pistol appeared in his hand (and I do fairly mean appeared; he had this habit of moving faster than I could perceive), and he held it out in my direction. "I spoil you."

I took the weapon. It was heavier than the other gun I had held, and of finer make; and I gathered from its dull color that it was made from a different metal. "Is it silver?" I hazarded.

He nodded. "Plated, at least."

"Doesn't that hurt you?"

A vicious grin. "A little. Hence the gloves."

Ah, yes, the gloves, with the sigils. I recognized them as the sigils that had been inscribed on the door of the room where I had found him. Like those sigils, they hummed with a kind of familiar magic. I had thought these gloves another detail added to his jaunty pseudo-Victorian wardrobe that he had acquired since his reawakening; but they apparently had their uses.

I pressed for more. Wouldn't anybody, handed an unusual weapon in the middle of the night? "Where did you get it?"

"It's a Desert Eagle, of special make for the Hellsing family. I understand there were originally three. I believe the other two went to other Royal Knights Protestant, but this one was your father's."

I was silent, dumbfounded, wondering why he had been the one to pass it on to me. He seemed to sense my questions, and added. "I think Walter did not consider it a fit gift for a young girl."

"Then why--"

"I think it's not fit that a young girl be at the mercy of others." When still I said nothing, he prompted, "Shall we get started, then?"

"Won't they be alarmed, up in the house, if they hear us shooting?"

No reply. But I felt something heavy and dull descend upon the room then, not unlike it had been covered with a giant cosmic blanket.

"Not now," he replied, and gestured in the directions of the paper targets.

I stepped up to the bar, unsure quite what to do. I found the dutifully provided ear muffs, and put those on, because it seemed wise. They were too big for my head, and slipped down; and it took me a moment to arrange them to sit right. From there, I didn't know what to do.

You would think, wouldn't you, that shooting at paper targets would be easy once one has killed a man. You would be wrong. The first shot... well, that couldn't have been helped. This was a willful act; a harmless one, but still, it was no easier to force my hand.

Still Alucard waited patiently at my shoulder. If he had a watch, I think he would have been looking at it. As if it were helpful, he said, "Aim for the head."

Well, that helped. Some. At least it gave me a direction. But it was enough. I wasn't quite sure about the specifics of aim, but I did my best to target the head of the paper target, and pulled the trigger, finding it much less yielding than the last gun I had shot.

I was surprised by the recoil, as it was more than I had expected from a weapon its size. And still, I was surprised by the noise, and the searing violence of it all. I stood, still a little stunned, as the noise and fumes departed.

"Good." He indicated the target. "You're far off, but still doing damage. Give it another try."

My eyes were stinging, from gunsmoke or memories, I wasn't certain. I set the gun down, took off my glasses, and rubbed at my eyes. "I think I've had enough for tonight."

He reached around me to take the weapon back, chuckling as he did. "So we're going to spare the life of this poor paper target? Where is the brave little warrior I met down in your basements? She certainly didn't seem reticent around guns."

I clenched my fists and looked stubbornly away from him. Blood was rushing to my ears, a sure sign that I was getting angry. My goodness, he took pleasure in the fact that I had killed. He relished it, I dared say.

_Good little girls don't have to--_

I turned around to face him, hurriedly replacing my glasses on my head. "Can't we do this later?"

"Later may be too late. But," and finally he drew away, "if your guardians don't care enough about your welfare to give you weapons training, then perhaps it's not my business to care, either."

 _I can fence_ I almost reminded him sternly, until I realized how silly that sounded. Why must he _aggravate_ me so?

Of course it was for my benefit. It had nothing to do with killing, right? He simply wanted me to _live_... that was more than my my uncle had done, certainly. I was being silly, when I had to be strong.

"Wait." He turned away from the door, looking back at me questioningly. I reached out my hand. He needed no prompting to set the pistol back down in it.

"You're wiser than I thought, Miss Hellsing."

Wordlessly, I turned back to face the target.

It was easier the second, or rather, the third time; easier still the next. It was reflexive, like any other good skill was. _Like riding a bicycle, only more deadly._ My aim was even improving, as I got used to directing the weapon. Not long after, I was looking up at him expectedly.

"Do you know how to reload?"

I shook my head. What did I know of guns? He took the weapon back from me and obligingly showed me. Fumbling, I did the best I could to follow what I had seen.

As I worked, he lectured. "Usually, you'll be using exploding or silver rounds. Much more effective against what you like to call 'my kind.' But these are adequate for your training... ready?"

The grim humor of this struck me. Once again stepping up to the target, I said, "Funny, and some girls just get warm milk when they can't sleep."

"This, in the end, is much more satisfying, I think," he replied. "If you wanted warm milk, you could have stayed inside and just asked Walter. But somehow I doubt you'll ever be happy with simple things."

What was _that_ supposed to mean? I ignored him, and fired. I was beginning to find that I could enter a pleasant state of nothingness when I was doing this; in that, it was not far different from my fencing lessons, where the body took over in all its wisdom. The echo of the shots was far off, and the target practically called out to be hit.

In short, I was rather talented at this. For a thirteen year-old, at least.

"You seem to enjoy holding the gun. Does it suit you?"

I was too engrossed to care too much about what he said, though I had noticed that he had stepped closer, practically over my shoulder. I simply nodded in reply.

"Does it make you feel powerful?"

 _Undeniably._ I only thought it, but it was certain that he heard.

 _After all, you do seen to enjoy killing your own kind_ echoed in my mind suddenly.

I spun around. He was there, solid and yet still the immaterial voice in my head, laughing, ah, yes, laughing. If there was one thing he was good at it was turning someone's own words back at them, I would learn. It was his own perversion of humor.

I couldn't stand him, suddenly. I fired on him. Why? Oh, I think I was just a hothead, and as much grieving as I could do over murder, I don't think any thirteen year old really understands mortality...

... just as well that he wasn't mortal. I put three shots into him, two in his torso, and one in the head, before I stopped. Had I expected him to keel over? No, not logically. But it still shocked me to no end to see the wounds heal practically before they were opened.

The shells clanked to the cement floor of the firing range. He laughed. Of course he laughed; I doubted that he ever had any reaction other than humor in regards to me.

It infuriated me. "I should have used those exploding rounds. Bastard."

His face still a vision of mirth, he simply clucked at me. "Such language in a young girl."

"I should have. That was... cruel."

He brushed off the arms of his frock coat, as if my shooting had been an insult to his fashion sense more than anything else. Odd, how the very cloth of it seemed to heal with him. "Well, at least we know you don't have any hesitation about shooting the undead."

Right at the moment, I was ready to take his head off, if it would have come easily, so I simply snarled at him and tossed the pistol back to him before I was tempted to use it on him again. "If they're all so obnoxious as you, no."

He grinned. He took it as a compliment, God damn him. "I think you've learned enough tonight. Let me reward you." He pressed the weapon back into my hand. I was hard-pressed to decide which was colder, his grip or the dull silver. "Use it in need."

I nodded. "In need."

"In need, but not in fear." His eyes flicked back over my shoulder, inviting me to turn and look, and then was gone, phased into the walls, before I even turned.

Walter was standing in the door, looking stern. Now I understood the reason for Alucard's quick departure. Still, Walter was a good steward, irreplaceable, even, and he knew when to keep quiet about what he didn't like. He simply nodded his head towards the stairs to the house.

I ascended the stairs, to sleep, at last.


	4. Jeune, et Pourtant Tres Vieux

The study still smelled of cigars, months after my father's passing. No, not even months, a year, I reminded myself a touch wearily.

The smell was lulling me to sleep; it was comforting in its nostalgia, and it tempted me to forget duty. I wanted to set my head down on the book before me--it was wide enough it could easily accomodate me--and bury my face in the smell of old paper and bookworms and mold, savor life instead of death. Instead, I wiped sleep from my eyes, eyed the rising sun, and set back to my work.

Pages of notes were spread beside the book. Walter had said they would question me; they had to decide if I was worthy.

_"You have had a year. Surely you are worthy," he had said, with that usual pleasant demeanor. "There is nothing to worry about. You are Hellsing. They cannot deny you."_

He knew little. This year had been a wasted year. The enormity of the work before me had dawned on me recently. An endless line of undead, all eager to beat down our door, an endless night, endless risk to human life, and I knew so little, so little. Every night our troops left through the gate; where they went, and what their mission, I scarcely knew. About the creatures we hunted, even less. And in the past few weeks, that ignorance had turned to a sort of desparation. I would not be weak. There was no room for weakness--not even the weakness of youth--in this line of work.

 _I will not indulge your youth with niceties_ Alucard had once said. Better that he didn't, now I knew.

And so I studied, past my normal late hours, until the page, with its terrible images of demons and monsters I hoped never to see, blended into dreams. They were frightening, but that, that was immemorable. Frightening was commonplace, now.

I remembered one dream in particular, of the kind that comes just before waking. I was walking down a tunnel; a sewer tunnel of some kind, smelling foul, and mostly dark, except for an inconstant light before me, as if from a lantern being jostled. I followed it, not knowing what I followed, and as I drew closer, my apprehension grew stronger. Well I knew now that the light at the end of the tunnel was often an approaching train.

He was standing there, looking as pale as the day I met him, as starved and skeleton-like as he had been then. But he was grinning, ahh, that familiar grin. A lantern was at his feet, sputtering as if to die, and I moved towards it, to tend the flame or extinguish it, I didn't know.

He was on me in an instant, like a dog on meat, in a proximity I hadn't known since our meeting. Here, though, there was no mercy: I was prey, lured in my the innocent promise of light. And he had me, his teeth in my neck.

And I woke. I was sweating, but that wasn't unusual; it was summer. What was unusual was that he was staring at me, not more than ten centimeters from my face.

I jumped back; the chair, with its casters, responded, and sent me back to the far wall.

"I was wondering when you might wake up. "

I looked to the window. Not much later than before, sun still just barely above the horizon, not yet filtering into the room. "Shouldn't you be gone to bed by now?" It was a poor, poor attempt at being casual, when had just about given me an early heart attack. What did he want, that he stared at me like that?

Well, there was a likely answer. Walter had said it: _Now that you have given your blood to him, he is bound to you, but you will have to give, and give again. With your blood, he drinks the seal, but if you do not renew it, he may become... feral._

 _With my father...?_ I had asked, but trailed off.

He had understood anyway. _It was not so often that your father had to feed him, but after a time, it became too dear a price, every time he did._ The emphasis was on _dear_. _He used to tell me that every time he fed Alucard, he could feel their wills battling, as if he were still trying to escape the seal. It was like little organisms battling in his blood, he used to say._

Well chosen words. Feeding him again was not something I looked forward to. How often was "not often?" Once a year? Once every five years? I wondered, too, just what 'feral' looked like in a vampire. Something like this? No, these were just his usual pranks.

Right?

When my last words failed to get any response out of him (he had merely seated himself on one of the library's benches, and was staring at me like he was waiting for me to say something more), I insisted, "Well?" It came out a bit shrilly.

"You meet the Knights today."

"Walter told you."

"No matter, I found out." Right. A nice way of saying, _I've been poking around in your thoughts, hope you didn't mind. Ta!_

"I have to prove myself worthy."

"They will ask to see me."

"I expect that's not likely." I was cleaning up at my desk now, closing the heavy books, reshelving them. I was still in a nightgown and robe, and would have to dress soon, for the meeting at dawn. "They're much more interested in me."

"They will. They want to know that you've finally brought me to heel." He grinned at his own words.

"And have I?" I mused, playing along.

He clearly hadn't expected me to ask that, and it took him a moment to answer. "There's only one thing that brings my loyalty, _Master._ "

"Right. 'Will kill for food and lodging. Lodging optional.' I hope we keep you satisfied."

"You'll know quick enough if you don't." That would have been innocent enough, had he not flashed his fangs when he said it.

"But no warnings."

"A smart girl like you shouldn't need it."

Hm. "No, really, why were you staring at me? I'm sure it wasn't infatuation with my good looks."

He smirked. "I could smell your blood."

I was puzzled, and more than a little alarmed. Usually he didn't pay me this much attention "More than usu-" Then I realized what he meant. And blushed. Furiously. "Oh." I went back to shelving books.

He laughed. "You're embarrassed."

I gritted my teeth. "Call it a human failing." Call this damned body a _female_ failing. I think I was already starting to hate this entire being female thing, especially if it meant Alucard could follow me around like I was a cat in heat once a month.

"Humans are so very squeamish about blood, aren't they?"

"I'd prefer not to lose it, in any way, shape, or form, if that's what you mean."

Now he turned the topic back on me. "You worry about losing your control over me."

That was too close to the truth. But then, telepathy makes probing psychology easy. "I have Walter to deal with things like that," I said, which utterly failed to answer the question.

"It's easy enough for you to regain it. My price is cheap."

Just a taste, oh, yes, I'm sure. It was funny, it was like he was a slave to the blood, himself. He wanted it, as his kind did; but he knew it would bind him. An odd game we were playing, and I hadn't even mentioned how I had felt the subtle leash that bound him to me, the slight tug that kept him near, slipping, slipping.

"It would be easy enough for you to regain it, especially now. No knives, no cuttings, no teeth--"

I snapped at him, "What do you want me to do, go into the loo and bleed into a cup for you?" I pointed at the door, irrelevant, since he sure as hell never used it. "Out."

He didn't go. Of course not. He was winning. He was winning either way. By not feeding him, he was winning. By feeding him, he was winning. He was only losing by the fact that dawn was closer and closer, and cracks of light were appearing at the windowsill. But I doubted a little sunlight would hurt him, at least, not long term.

 _We made him as powerful as he is, and now it is the test of our powers to bring him down. We can't kill him. Perhaps your father had the best idea, after all._ Walter had said that.

"Really, Alucard, why are you here, besides to sniff at me like a hungry puppy?" There was a tired note to my voice, I'm sure. Lately, for reasons you can well imagine, everything he said had put an edge on me. I was a blade, slowly being sharpened.

"I wanted to warn you about them."

I turned back to him with a look of surprise. "The Knights? Why?"

"They are going to test you."

Walter had said as much. "And?"

"I know them. They don't play fair. Many of them would have been happy to have seen your uncle take over Hellsing. You still have other relatives. They would be happy to see the role fall to some of your male cousins, I'm sure."

Great. I _knew_ them, too, and I knew a few among them were eager to preserve their vampire-killing, England-preserving boy's club. "No great revelation there."

"And so what have you done to prepare?"

I gestured towards the bookshelf, as if to indicate my diligent work for the past few weeks. "I've been reading up on your kind. I plan to prove to them I can do the job just as well as my father did."

Alucard laughed. "I doubt they'll going to quiz you on my feeding habits, Miss Hellsing," he quipped. "They want to know that you control me."

"You've said that." A sharper edge still.

"And I plan to help you prove it."

"Great." I said. "The meeting's in ten minutes. Be a good little puppy dog and sit by my side and prove it, if you like. But right now, let me get dressed."

He smiled. "Yes, let's not keep nobility waiting." When I looked askance at him, he looked wounded. "You forget, I was nobility once. I understand these things."

" 'Count' isn't a British peerage. Your noble blood doesn't count for much here." But I spoke the words to any empty room. Once again he had faded into the walls themselves.

Opportunity for wit gone, I was left to dress. I numbly found my way back to my room, opened my closet, and found it the same as every day before: the girlish shirts, the frilly skirts... they all seemed so silly today. Not serious enough for a job that demanded my blood.

Oh, and I couldn't deny that, could I? He would need to be fed. He had practically begged for my blood.

I closed the closet, rang for Walter. He responded promptly. He, at least, was cheery in the morning. "Yes, Lady Hellsing?"

"Bring me one of my father's suits from the other wing."

5:54 AM, and it was dawn, with no time to be regretful for lost sleep.

I had never been in the Knights' conference room before, and it seemed massive to me, in the way all things do to a child seeing them for the first time: massive in a mythical way.

He was there already, of course. I didn't think anyone else would notice him, as he was blending into the shadows on the dark side of the wall. I thought of throwing open the curtains to spite him, but instead I ignored him.

My father's suit did not fit me well. Walter had looked at me strangely when he had brought it, but had obligingly helped me to roll up the cuffs at wrist and ankle. "If this is what you prefer, Lady Hellsing, I'll have some made for you," he had said, and then left me in silence.

I still felt more serious than I would have in a dress.

Outside, the crunch of a car on gravel sounded, and a quick glance out the window confirmed the arrival of the first contingent of the Knights. Even from a distance, they were everything I had expected, and anything every hothead activist likes to think the Powers that Be really are--balding, aging, men, sucking on cigars fat enough to prove a certain Dr. Freud right. I almost laughed. They were comical; they could no more hurt me than characters in a political cartoon could.

Funny, it sort of gave me a sense of how Alucard saw the world.

Walter entered. "Sir Airans to see you."

I looked away from the window. I hadn't seen Airans in over a year, not since he had been busily adjudicating all the details of my "succession". "Now?"

His smile didn't fade. "Preferably before the meeting, yes."

"Hmph. All right. Keep the Knights busy with..." Ideas failed me.

"Tea?"

"That will do."

Airans entered. He, too, was aging, and certainly not young, but a much more rugged face suggested that he might do more than sit around plotting world domination. Golf, at least.

He smiled, an honest smile that acknowledged me as the daughter of a true friend. "You look well, Sir Hellsing." If he noticed the change of garb, and its ill fit, he was tactful enough not to say anything about it. In a lower voice, he added, "I hope you are recovering well from recent events."

"As well as can be expected," I replied. "Did you have some urgent business for me?"

"Not urgent. Just wanted to let you know that there has been a 'changing of the guard,' so to speak, and that I may not longer be the only one laying claim to keeping your 'best interest' in mind."

It didn't sound much different from what Alucard had said--be careful. I nodded. "Do you think there's anything to worry about?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure. Frandon will be handling your guardianship, at least officially, for a while."

"I'm barely a child any more."

"But you're still not of majority. The question still remains how capable you are of handling yourself, and Hellsing." When I said nothing, Airans sighed yet again and added, "I had no hand in this. It was decided while I was on holiday. They decided it would be in your best interest to have Frandon handle your guardianship, since they deemed me 'too emotionally close.' "

"I suppose now they count having sat across the same table and eaten dinner together as too close."

"I'm just warning you, Sir Hellsing. Try to be grateful for it."

"I am," I added begrudgingly

Airans shrugged. "This Frandon--don't know if you've met him, but he's a bit of a ... well, nevermind--will handle matters concerning your inheriting the peerage and the duties of the leadership of Hellsing. He's the one who will decide if you're fit to lead on your own until your majority."

_They are going test you._

_They want to see if you've finally brought me to heel._

I straightened myself a little, and tried to behave as my father would in such a situation. "I think I can handle myself, Sir Airans. Thank you for your advice."

He nodded and left again, leaving me alone in the room, except for Alucard.

I turned to the general location of the shadow that hid him. "Don't say it."

"I told you so." He was so wrapped in shadow that I couldn't tell if he was smirking, but I _felt_ certain of it.

"I hope you decide to behave." By behave, I meant, show some sort of restraint, much unlike he had in dealing with my uncle and his cronies.

Not that I had, either.

"But, Master," he said, in a sing-song, childish voice, "I always act in your best interest."

"Hmph. You mean, so long as your well-being is assured."

"It's rather hard to _dis_ assure my well-being, after five hundred odd years. I do well whether I have you or not."

The same, unfortunately, could not be said for myself, or Hellsing.

The Knights had convened; myself at the head of the table, and Airans and Frandon to either side of me. Frandon, true to my expectations, had not much deformed the mold that all the others Knights were built from; save for a silver ring with a whimsical design, which looked like it belonged on a much younger man. Walter stood near the door, awaiting further orders; and no one noticed our uninvited little guest, still hidden in the shadow afforded by the sideboard.

I had been talking for too damn long. To my credit, Alucard _was_ wrong when he thought that my brushing up on obscure knowledge of the undead would be of no use; I was submitted to a number of silly questions involving ultraviolet radiation and its effects on vampires of different ages.

But it came down to business; these were businessmen first, of course. It was a man at the end of the table, a certain Shaw-Greevy, who finally brought my questioning to a close. "That's a fiersomely impressive body of knowledge you've gathered, Sir Hellsing. Clearly, the past year hasn't been wasted. I, however, would like to rest more assured of your practical ability to deal with the undead. Now, the question of your guardianship doesn't rest directly in my hands, but I do wonder whether or not Sir Frandon has a similar question."

I probably felt more confident than I should have at that particular moment, when the entire table turned its eyes from Shaw-Greevy, to Frandon, to me, in turn. It was Frandon who spoke; not that he had said much the entire meeting. "Yes, true. I understand from Walter that you have not been directly involved in any missions to eradicate the undead."

I looked to Walter for help. He had probably divulged that fact in innocence, but that didn't make the question any less easy to squirm out of. Walter did have something to say. "Except in unusual situations, the leader of Hellsing does not usually engage in the missions on the front line. None of the difficulties we've had in the past year have been out of the ordinary." He smiled at me. "Indeed, I'd even say the undead were taking a little break in deference of Lady Hellsing's ascension."

I decided to speak up for myself. "And, I have had weapons training. I've been taking fencing lessons since I was eight, and I have recently been training with some firearms experts." Yes, that was nicely put.

Frandon nodded. "Good, then. We shouldn't have to worry that you aren't able to take care of yourself. Of course, we know that practice does not always prepare us for field experience, but let's leave that matter aside for a moment. You were right, Sir Shaw-Creevy, that I was interested in how capable Lady Hellsing is of dealing with the undead, but I am interested in how she deals with one particular one."

_I told you-_

_Not now!_

"I assume you refer to Alucard," I said. "But I'm unsure exactly what you want to know, Sir Frandon."

Frandon looked around, a smirk on his face, as if expecting to find Alucard somewhere near. He would never suspect just _how_ near, would he? "Where have you hidden him?" he mused. "Still languishing in chains in the basement?"

"It was not in the Institute's best interest to leave him where we found him, valuable weapon that he is. He is close."

_Brilliant understatement there, my liege._

"Close like family? Close, like a competent servant? Close, like a well-trained pet?" When I failed to answer, Frandon shifted in his chair. "We have never liked the idea of a vampire serving humans in the task of killing vampires. Betrayal is too easy in a situation like that. We must believe that he has reason to obey you."

I looked at Frandon innocently. _What, my blood is not enough?_ "He has performed his tasks admirably so far."

"That has only been a year. He served your father for far longer before he was imprisoned. And do you know the reasons for his imprisonment?"

I knew Alucard's take on the matter. He would say, _Your father got scared when he realized that pets need to be fed_. "Not well, no, Sir Frandon."

"He became disobedient. He became dangerous. Your father knew that he could not kill him, only weaken him, and so he figured the best way to do so was to starve him, which is how you found him." Frandon paused. "I dread to ask if this is still so."

I would not mention the price I had paid for obedience. I would not mention my spilled blood, and how it woke him. No one else knew except for Walter, and some dead men, and I intended to keep it that way. "He has been fed, if that is what you are asking. It brings his obedience better than starvation." That it was not just any blood that brought his obedience--for he could get that without my help--but my blood, and the spells that had been forged in that blood to bind him to me, I also did not mention.

"But for how long?"

"He has what he wants. Why would he disobey?"

"Why did he disobey to begin with? Because he had a whim to, I do believe."

Frandon had stumped me. What had, really, provoked my father to the step of imprisonment? More importantly, would I fall victim to the same thing? Alucard would claim that it was fear that brought him to that step, fear of having to provide his blood again and again. I did not know my father as a fearful man, though.

But perhaps we are all afraid of death, especially one with the teeth of a wolf and red eyes and unrelenting hunger.

I cleared my throat. "Alucard."

He stepped forward from the shadows, becoming more solid the closer he came. He was taller than any of us, even if we had been standing, and as he loomed over us not a few voices hushed. "Yes, my Master?"

So. He was deciding to play Good Puppy Dog, at least for now.

I had a brilliant idea. "Alucard, shoot Sir Frandon."

You can imagine the uproar. I hope the scene, as a dozen odd men rose to their feet and drew their own weapons, unsure whether to point them at Alucard or myself, needs no description. Even Walter looked shocked, a distinctly unusual expression for him. Alucard had the Casull to Frandon's head long before any of them, and would have gotten off a shot, if he hadn't known my bluff. I half worried that he would have gone ahead, anyway.

I didn't want to think about what I would do if he had.

Frandon didn't behave admirably in the face of impending doom. While the other Knights were fumbling for weapons, he was fumbling for a cross at his neck, while letting out a distinctly unmanly keening noise. "Get back, you filthy thing!" he cried.

I couldn't suppress a bit of irony. "Sir Frandon, you should know better than that. Didn't we just cover the fact that crosses are ineffective on older vampires?"

Shots were fired; though, to his credit, Alucard remained steady. I doubt that the Knights had expected to be fighting vampires today, and most of the bullets passed by him without evincing a flinch. The few that did enter him were certainly not silver, which might have had a chance of damaging him. He still wore the childish glee that the prospect of killing gave him, and with an evil grin, snatched the cross that Frandon wielded, snapping the chain that held it around his neck.

"Get back! Die, already, you damned thing!" Frandon was shouting, voice breaking at intervals. _Now_ he was emptying his pistol into Alucard, not that it was doing any good. " _Obey_ me, already!" he fairly wailed.

"Enough," I told Alucard, and he stepped back, returning the Casull to his frock coat. Within moments, he was gone in shadows again.

Frandon, shaking, turned back to me. He seemed unable to say anything, and so I spoke instead.

"He obeys me, Sir Frandon, not you, as much as you would like that to be different. Is this the proof you require?"

Anger replaced shock. "You play a very dangerous game with that monster, _Miss_ Hellsing," he said quietly. I had not been called "Sir" long enough that his intentional slight was one that bothered me. "I am not convinced you know well enough what these monsters are about, and why you must fight them, if you give him such leave."

I did not remind them of the reason I fought them. It was a single-hearted calling, almost religious, that I had inherited from my father, and grandfather; and blood, as they say, is thicker than water.

He cleared his throat. His composure returned, at least in part. "That little display has certainly been enough to convince me that you are not yet mature enough to sit on the Round Table, or to rule Hellsing. But," he raised a hand, "I am a fair man. I will give you a chance to prove yourself.

"As I have said, your field experience is lacking, and perhaps a front line mission would do well to remind you of how dangerous these monsters are, and what they will do to you if you are not wary." He turned to Airans. "I believe you mentioned we were having some problems in Camden town?"

Airans looked surprised at this development, and opened his mouth to speak. Frandon cut him off. "Excellent. I'm sure this would provide an excellent opportunity for her to prove her skills."

"And if I am successful? Will you then be convinced of my ability to lead?"

" _If_ you are successful, without help, then we shall see." Frandon smoothed his hands over the binder in front of him. He was back in control now, and the confidence showed. "As for the monster, he is to be confined to the basement again. I trust Walter can assist with that." He looked to Walter. Walter looked to me and cocked his head, as if asking if I would really allow this.

"I can't allow that."

Frandon looked incensed. " _Miss_ Hellsing, I do believe I am your legal guardian and pro tem Hellsing representative, and as such I believe I'm the one who should be allowing or disallowing things around here."

"That's all well and good, but see if he'll listen to you," I merely replied, standing to leave. I gestured at Walter and he opened the door to allow me through.

Walter followed me into the hall, and continued following my rapid steps back in the direction of my own room. It was, however, at my father's bedroom that I stopped. It had scarcely been disturbed since his death, save for the rescue of some business suits this morning, and I found it in the order I expected. In the top drawer of a dressing table I found a shaving trousse, and within, a straight razor. I hadn't seen my father use it in years; I suspected it was more memorabilia of his youth than any useful tool. Still, it would serve for my purposes. Walter looked askance at me, but said nothing, only running his hand over his hair and giving me a look that spoke of being too old for the task ahead.

"Alucard!" I shouted. He materialized instantly. Funny, how even when I expected that, it still startled me.

He looked me up and down. What did he expect, that I had changed since that exchange? I noticed he had taken Frandon's cross as spoils of war, and was chewing on it, grinning at me from around it. "That was an interesting play you made there. They say gambling is a vice, much like killing is a vice."

"Alucard-"

"Didn't I tell you not to use a weapon in fear, Master? And I am nothing if not a weapon."

"Shut up," was my final response, and grabbed his arm, cold as marble beneath my grip, and headed for the closest sink basin. Alucard let himself be led.

There was one in the adjoining room, in my father's private bath. Walter stood in the doorway watching us both warily. He had the air of a chaperone, watching us as if we might do something unseemly.

Unseemly, yes. But very, very pertinent.

Alucard knew what I intended. "Why the sink?"

"I'd rather not drip on the carpet, thank you." I drew up my sleeve, snapped open the razor. Walter's eyes opened with surprise as he finally understood my intent.

Alucard was leaning jauntily against the porcelain now. He knew he was going to get fed, and past disaster and future imprisonment aside, he was as pleased as punch. "I promised you already, no blood on the carpet, didn't I?"

But then, did he know about the future imprisonment?

He lifted my chin to look into my eyes appraisingly. If he didn't know before, he knew now. "So that's why you're so eager to offer up a good meal. It's my last, isn't it?" he mused.

I said nothing. I looked at the razor, and the veins on my arm. How the hell was I going to do this? Oh, I knew abstractly--cutting across the vein meant less blood loss, which was what I wanted. Doesn't make it any easier to put cold, sharp metal to your own flesh.

"Why are you listening to them, Integra?" he asked quietly. The fact that he used my first name was startling. "Didn't I promise I would cut down all your enemies?"

Again I said nothing. Walter cleared his throat, "Milady, there are easier ways to do this. We can get some doctors to draw your blood."

"No time," I muttered. I knew the Knights would find us eventually. They wanted to make sure that Alucard returned to his imprisonment, and I wouldn't have them trying before I had placated his hunger.

Alucard laughed roughly. "They are sending you to Camden. Perhaps you had better get a good meal yourself, as it may be your last as well."

I recalled Airans' startled look. I looked up. "What did they find at Camden?" I looked to Walter. "What did they find at Camden?"

Walter cleared his throat. "Not really sure, Milady. Definitely an unnatural being, but of what sort, we're not sure."

"All we really know is that whatever this is tore the heads off five of our troops before they scarcely entered the place," Alucard added gleefully. "Something better left to a fine evening's work for me."

"They're sending me to my death," I whispered.

Both Alucard and Walter said nothing, probably because it was true.

"They want to kill me." I was stunned. I knew Frandon was a pompous ass, but I didn't know he was enough of a bastard to want me dead.

But then, I had commanded Hellsing's wild card to put a gun to his head. They had left me few other options to prove myself, but I doubt they would listen to that kind of reason.

All there was left to do was not die. It seemed like that was the worst insult I could give them, to succeed, and survive.

And so I cut. It took more pressure than I had expected to part the skin, and the blade was sharp enough that it felt like no more than a stinging paper cut. Drops of blood slid down to my fingers like sinister little jewels. Walter seemed surprised that I had actually done it.

"You must take it," I whispered, offering my wrist to Alucard.

He didn't need much coaxing. My wrist was in his iron grip one moment, and his mouth was at the wound the next. It was a jolt to my senses the moment he latched on. My blood had suddenly become his, and I felt immediately the roar which my father had felt as the spells of my line fought for dominance over his will.

More dangerous was the undertow of the wave. I felt, too, like I was sliding away, all of me slipping into all of him. It was a calm too easy to fall into; a calm that would lead me to me believe that he was caressing my arm, not feeding from it-

Enough. I knew the effects of blood loss, and chalked it up to that.

 _A dangerous thing you're doing, you know._ It seemed louder, now; less a disembodied voice and more a pounding in my skull.

_Why do you think I brought Walter?_

_If I didn't want to let go, you couldn't make me. He couldn't make me. And then, you would die._

It was true. I had been foolish in my haste. No wonder Walter suggested the intervention of doctors and needles and antiseptic. _Let go,_ I insisted.

_If I let go, you'll simply send me into captivity. I'd say it's in my best interest to kill you quickly._

My panic was growing. He laughed. _Fear makes you taste sweeter, Master._

I yanked my wrist away from him, but he only grasped my wrist in an even more crushing grip, pinning my arm to the side of the basin. I had no doubt he would break my arm if he wanted to.

Wasn't this what the damned seal, all the spells forged in Hellsing blood, were supposed to prevent? Then why the _hell_ wasn't it working?

Walter was still in the doorway, and I tried to speak up, beg his help, but I found my voice suddenly escaping me, as the sensation of gravity suddenly increasing overtook me. I found myself sitting, unwillingly, on the edge of the basin for support.

I felt something like a string pulled taught snapping in half between us, and Alucard pulled away abruptly. The seals had snapped into place. I fell, slumping onto the floor. Walter was at my side, then, making protective noises at me and shooting deadly glances at Alucard. He would have taken his head off with those monofilament wires he used, if I had said a word.

The air still buzzed from the psychic impact. Alucard, was, of course, grinning, my blood on his teeth. "I hope you've learned a valuable lesson, Master."

I think that was a sentiment even Walter could agree with. "Bastard," was what I managed to mutter. "You fought it to the last."

He shrugged. "Yes. But given time, the seal always wins out."

 _Given time._ That time could have been short enough to kill me. That was what I had learned.

The only question was, was he trying to kill me or teach me?

All three of us turned our heads at the sound of a knock on the door to the adjoining bedroom. The door opened before we had a chance to make any reply. Frandon, followed by Airans, appeared in the doorway to the bathroom.

Frandon eyed me with a look of surprise at seeing me sitting on the floor, but continued nonetheless. "We will take it away, now." He didn't sound half a defiant as he wanted to, and was very careful to avoid eye contact with Alucard as he said it.

"Alucard," I said, a tad weakly, "please go with them."

He nodded. He was compliant, this time. "As you wish." I suppose the surprise his acquiescence invoked in Frandon was at least some consolation for being locked away.

They still insisted on bringing Walter. I didn't blame them. After the last few moments, I wouldn't want to be alone in the basement with Alucard, either, and I was the one who ostensibly controlled him.

Well, we saw how _that_ was.


	5. Down the Rabbit Hole

Two weeks later, I found myself on a narrow street in Camden, a street with nothing to suggest its sinister nature but a cluttering of garbage and an unnatural quiet. No cars, no people, only black-shaded windows that gaped at us like sets of empty eyes. If one looked far enough down the street, east or west, to the closest intersections, one would see government vehicles with tinted glass; they were my closest refuge.

Before me, was a metal cellar door, with a red "x" roughly painted on it. Funny, how we used that symbol; like woodcutters cutting out the rotted, dead trees. An analogy my father would have liked, I'm sure.

Walter put a hand on my shoulder and turned me around, setting a radio into my hand. "Don't part with this. If you need us, call. Even Frandon won't let you come to harm in there." Both of us had traded our usual wear for the Hellsing military garb; he managed to look more distinguished in it than I, but then, he had had a long time to get used to it.

Frandon hadn't been so cruel as to leave me unarmed, either. I was more limited, however, by my size and how much I could carry. I had, of course, the pistol Alucard had gifted me over a year ago, and plenty of silver ammunition for that. Walter had wisely pointed out that my fencing skill might be useful, as well, and had pulled out and dusted off my father's military saber, and used his weaponsmithing skills to hammer a fine line of silver along the blade. I was equipped with torches, as well. Quainter than a flashlight, true, but most undead still weren't terribly fond of fire.

I still felt vastly unprepared, even if Walter had assured me that Alucard had probably been exaggerating about the head-snapping beast within. He gave me a brave smile, and left me with the typical Hellsing mantra: "May God and the Queen bless you."

I reached for the handle of the cellar door, and drew it back suddenly. The metal door was heavy with magic, magic I recognized as distinctly un-Hellsing, and it stung. I looked to Walter. He looked unconcerned, which led me to believe thathe wasn't aware of it.

Must be a family thing.

I reached out again, bearing the stinging this time, and swung the door open. Nothing but darkness, and musty smell before me. I waved--probably more confidently than I deserved--to Walter, and stepped in.

The light from the doorway illuminated a spacious room with a dirt floor. It looked like it might have been a workshop at some point, judging by the workbench along the right wall. It couldn't have been too long abandoned; only a thin layer of dust lay on the tools there.

The light from the door was fading behind me as I came to a stairway leading up to a closed door. The door was gouged from top to bottom with long nail imprints, and from the blood that accompanied it, I guessed that they weren't the work of a family pet.

Walter had assured me the upstairs had been secured by our prior teams, and my task lay below the house. I puzzled at what he meant by that, until I noticed a pit in the far left corner of the room. It looked more like the work of a giant, over-eager badger than anything else. Excavated dirt was piled up beside it, and, on closer inspection, the walls of the pit were rough-hewn--definitely not cut with an pickax or dug with a shovel.

And, just my luck, there was no convenient way down that I could see. I couldn't even tell how deep it was. No sounds emanated from it, which stilled my beating a heart a bit, certainly. I took the opportunity to light one of the torches and inspect it, but I grew more worried as I realized that, even with light, I couldn't see the bottom.

I dropped the torch, watched it fall. It landed about five meters down, and sputtered out in the dirt below, but not before showing me a clear space about two meters wide, with a tunnel extending another direction.

I sighed. Down the rabbit hole it was.

I fell as only a fourteen year-old can--with no grace whatsoever. I bounced off the walls of pit and landed, not far from where my torch was sputtering out in the dirt.

Blackness surrounded me, and I hurried to light another torch, my hands shaking at the thought of what might be waiting in the darkness to grab me. It was all well and good to talk about beings of darkness in the safety of the manor, but it was quite enough to feel them breathing around you.

The torch came to life, revealing, thankfully, that I was alone in this pit, with a branching tunnel to the left the only way out. It looked as if it slanted downward; and from the reflection of light I could see that the texture of the walls changed considerably up ahead. What was under this basement? It was growing warmer in here, too, rather than cooler; another notable oddity.

I walked down the left tunnel about ten meters before I noticed what was causing the changed reflection. It seemed that the dirt tunnel had broken through the wall of some other structure, made, it appeared, from limestone. The hallway here was wider. I remembered castles in France I had seen, and how the limestone there had worn the stone in similar patterns. /Old/ That was all I knew. There had been designs on the walls, once, I could see; but they were worn away now.

A couple more meters, and the texture of the place changed psychically, as well. I felt a pulsing in the far corner of my awareness, ahead of me; and was suddenly *certain* that I was in some kind of danger.

Much to my chagrin, I was spot-on with that assessment.

Barely at the edge of the torchlight I could see a figure approaching me, lurching, even. I wondered if this were one of the ghouls of which I had heard spoken; those leavings of vampires, with no will of their own.

No. Ghouls were still mostly human-like in appearance, from what I had heard. This most certainly was not. It looked, in fact, like a horrible chunk of distorted flesh and muscle, mounted on skinny little legs. Three-fingered hands with sharp claws protruded from its upper body, and it glowed with foreign magic.

This was _something's_ creation; something's summoned servant. And--theology aside--where there's a creation, there's undoubtedly a creator.

The Desert Eagle was out instantly. I cut it down with two silver bullets. The first bullet evoked a terrible squeal; the second felled it most effectively. My, my aim was improving.

Unfortunately, from the look of the hallway ahead, more were coming my way. Almost in single file they shuffled towards me. Thankfully, their distance was great enough still that they didn't yet pose a danger.

I was, of course, not looking behind me.

I felt immediately what those claws could do as one ripped into my back, stinging triply. I yelped, and spun around immediately, in time for it to aim another slash across my left arm.

It didn't have a chance to land another blow. Its cry faded as the magic animating the flesh fled the body.

I had only enough time to notice the break in the wall from which it had come, before I turned to find three, no, four of them almost upon me. By my count, only one bullet was left to me; and I discovered I was right, as I emptied the last one into the closest creature, and then came up blank.

With no time to reload, I switched to the saber. Lucky that that had been my weapon of choice back in my fencing classes. It was effective, but much more work. Fencing had--of course--been nothing like this, and while my arm might have been prepared for the swinging, it wasn't prepared for the impact.

I was left panting for breath, my heart in my throat, as the last one fell before my blade. With a moment of respite, I reloaded, noticing the stinging pain in my back from where the filthy claws had cut into me. The wound on my arm was no better, and I could see that it was red, and, in a day or so, would be ripe with infection.

All the more reason to get out of here, faster.

It was clear that my mission here wasn't finished. There way no way that these weak creatures had been the death of an elite Hellsing team; they were mere nuisances, dangerous only in their number. I knew I had at least their creator to contend with.

Two paths remained to me: the wide limestone hallway stretched ahead of me; as well as the crack in the wall from which the assault from behind had come. I chose the forward one.

Although I was well on guard at this point, torch in one hand, and pistol readied in the other, I soon came to realize that if there was danger in this maze of tunnels, it was not to be found in this direction. Within another ten meters of empty limestone tunnels, narrowing all the way, I reached a wide room.

It was a most unusually shaped room--pentagonal. Unlike the hallways which led to it, it was lit by torches mounted on the walls at equal distances. I would have proclaimed it empty at first, had I not noticed that it was crawling with that same foreign magic. I expected that to herald the coming of more of the magical creatures, but when nothing appeared, I moved closer to the center of the room, more curious and yet more confident.

As I approached, I noticed designs on the floor. No, not really designs--for they weren't really _there,_ were they? They were a crawling pattern of magic, floating a few centimeters above the floor--they would have been invisible to me had they not been so violently _opposed_ to the Hellsing magic. Of them, I could say no more, except that the pattern they outlined seem somehow familiar, though I couldn't place it.

What became clear is that this room was a gigantic pentagram. Logic dictated that one gigantic pentagram meant one giant spell. The question then became, to what purpose?

Since the room itself failed to answer my question, with more apprehension now, I turned to leave. It was then that I noticed how the tendrils of magic had wrapped themselves around my legs, clinging to me like a cloud of dust. At first, they didn't seem to impede me, but as I approached the door, they began to slow me, and I stopped dead at the doorway, trapped by their cold grip on my ankles.

In a panic, I sliced at them with my blade. The silver made them withdraw as if stung, but this spell was made of sterner stuff than the monsters I had fought, and they finally persisted, despite my most frantic efforts.

I was trapped; trapped as I was a year ago--in a cellar, at dead end.

Unlike a year ago, I didn't have a demon prince to wake and save my life. My demon prince was a city away, in the basement where I found him. Were he here, I had no doubt he would sneer at my stupid human ways.

I ground my palm into my forehead. "Stupid Integra." I said it for him. It bore saying. I did, after all, walk right into the spell.

But I did have a God of Death on my side, if a more sedate one. I found the radio, turned it on. "Walter, I'm trapped," I practically whispered, showing more calm than I actually felt. I didn't know why my voice was so weak all of the sudden.

No response. I tried again, more frantic. "Please!" Still nothing. I fiddled with the channels, tried every one. In fury, I threw the damn thing across the room.

I tried to make for the doorway again. Again I came up short. Traversing the perimeter of the room, it seemed, however, that as long as I stayed in this room, I could move freely.

Thinking rationally, that was a plus. This spell had been created by _some_ thing, for _some_ purpose, that purpose being to trap stupid fourteen year-old girls who walked into it. Which meant, rationally, that that _some_ thing would come to find me at some point. If I could destroy it, I could destroy the spell.

But thinking irrationally was very tempting right about now. I bit my tongue to stop the cry that came, unwanted, to my throat.

Steps in the hallway told me I wouldn't be waiting for long, good or bad. I was immediately at attention, weapon at the ready, every muscle in my body tense. Funny, how those steps sounded distinctly /human/

As the figure appeared, shadowed in the doorway, I realized why I had recognized the sigil of the magic that had trapped me. It was, after all, the sigil that Frandon bore on his ring.

"Speechless, Miss Hellsing? It's so rare that I see you that way; let me savor it."

I gritted my teeth. I was in no mood for talking, not with a traitor. "I see you decided to be the Merlin to our little Round Table, Frandon."

He smiled. "A nice analogy. And while your court was being destroyed, I would be frolicking with wood spirits."

 _In need, but not in fear._ I was uncertain if it were Alucard's voice echoing in my head, or a particularly loud memory. In any case, I shot Frandon twice.

Or, rather, shot _at_ him. He moved fast; faster than Alucard did, perhaps. His speed, however, was unholy in a different way. The bullets flew past him and skittered on the ground.

In a moment he was upon me, and I was on my stomach, pressed to the ground, his knee to my back. His strength, too, was unholy and fueled by magic. My torch had flown out of my hand, and landed halfway across the room, sputtering on the limestone floor--not that I much needed it now. The pistol, too, disappeared into the dark. My pack, with my remaining ammunition and torches, would have remained; but in the moment I was stunned, Frandon took the opportunity to yank it off my back and toss it across the room, before pinning my arms behind me.

He yanked back my head to look me in the eye. "I think you had better listen to what I want before you start shooting, Miss Hellsing, especially since you can't leave this room without my willing it."

"You want what everyone else wants--Hellsing. Why should it be any different? You know well that you aren't the first that has tried to kill me. You should also know that you won't have it unless you kill me--and then, I would wish I were alive just to see you fight with the rest of the Round Table over it."

"Actually," he said quietly, "I would settle for that pet of yours."

"Alucard?"

"Unless you have other 500-year old vampires in your basement?"

It was so ridiculous. How many times had I wished him out of my sight? But I doubted it was that easy, or that advantageous. "He was bound to my grandfather. I don't think he can be unbound and bound to another."

"Unless you die, right, Miss Hellsing?"

I was silent. He hit me in the head then, with something that felt dangerously like the butt of a gun. Finally, I said, "Whatever do you want him for? He doesn't obey, and he needs to be fed."

"But it's not that simple, is it? The feeding, I mean. He needs your blood."

Well, since the secret was out... "It's what binds him."

"As I thought. Then, you, Hellsing, will happily provide it for me, and I will use it to transfer the binding to me."

"I have no idea how you intend to do that."

He leaned close to me, whispering in my ear. His right hand, the one with the gun, supported his weight. "I'm the Merlin of this Round Table, as you said. I know a way. So I will bleed you, and I will bind him, and you will go free, minus that pesky creature."

 _But why?_ I asked myself. Was Alucard really so valuable? For killing vampires, certainly, but that wasn't Frandon's job. Frandon's job, unlike Hellsing's, was intelligence, not security. "I still don't know why you want him."

"Why, Hellsing, haven't you toyed with the notion yourself? Bound as your servant, he surely must owe you, among other things, the price of immortality."

If I had toyed with that idea, I wasn't going to admit it. "He would never give it to you."

"He would if he were bound to me."

Maybe so. I hadn't tested the limits of the seal in such extreme ways. I somewhat doubted it, all the same. "Seal or no, he wouldn't work for such a weak bastard as yourself, Frandon." My eyes fell now on the gun he held. I recognized it immediately, for it was the twin to mine. Well, now, at least, I knew to whom one of the other three silver-plated pistols had fallen. "And neither will I," I muttered.

And then I kicked him in the groin. Unholy strength or no, that was one human weakness he couldn't deny. It had the desired effect, and as he winced in pain, I swung my free fist at his weight-bearing hand, knocking him off balance, and allowing me to grab the pistol from his hand.

I was on my feet in seconds. I still couldn't leave the room; but I now had the upper hand. His only retaliation now was the magic he wielded so skillfully. He laughed at me, from his vulnerable position on the ground, and immediately the room fill with a heavy, muffling darkness.

I fired at where he should have been, but could tell from the ricochet that he was there no longer.

"It's really not so much to ask, Hellsing. I'll take that accursed creature off your hands. Consider it a favor."

"Favors don't trap me with magic." I fired at the sound of his voice. Another richochet. He was gone again.

Suddenly, he was choking me. Though his hands weren't on me, I could feel an invisible noose closing around my throat, and I could hear him laughing. "Well, if you really want to know, I'd probably need to bleed you dry for the transfer. It would have been a peaceful death. Now, you get to die violently, in the dark."

I did the only thing I could, and fired again at his voice. They were my final shots, as I pulled the trigger and came up with the click of an empty chamber.

I knew I was starting to lose consciousness, as specks of light--impossible in this pitch black room--appear at the edges of my vision. How true he had been. I would die violently, in the dark. How fitting, for a Hellsing. I slumped to the floor, suddenly weak.

 _You don't want to die now, do you?_ Alucard had said, only a year ago. It brought a sudden clarity of intention, and, still gasping for breath, I looked up.

Stupid fool. Frandon was gloating over me, and my imminent death. In this dark, I could not see him, only feel him, but that was enough to reawaken my rage.

Gloating deserved only one thing, and that was a cold silver saber through the throat. Lucky for me, I had enough mental integrity to still manage that, and that was exactly what he got.

He fell to his knees and keeled back, and I felt the hold on my neck suddenly loosen, and the room lighten, as he lost concentration. He was probably already dead, or headed inexorably in that direction, but I pulled myself up to my knees, pulled the blade out, and swung it down on him again, and again, and again.

Blood was on my face, and yet, I still couldn't stop myself from tearing at that body, wreaking upon it an unnecessary vengeance. Call it bloodlust. Call it a storm in my head, crying for violence. Call it insanity. Call it, perhaps, being bloody sick of people trying to kill me for what I possessed, or pretended, at least, to possess.

I finally withdrew, panting. This time, unlike the last, the blood that covered me was another's, not my own. I threw the saber aside, surveyed my work. Something had fallen out of Frandon's pocket in my onslaught, and had fallen to the ground, covered in gore.

I reached for it, wiped it off. It was a silver cigar case, engraved with my family's sigil. Inside, I found what I expected--six of my father's Henry Winterman cigars. "Presumptuous bastard took my father's cigars." I stuck the case in my pocket.

I found my own pistol, and my satchel, in one corner of the five-sided room, and not far from them, the radio I had tossed away. On a whim, I tried it again. I was free to leave the room now, I knew, but pulling myself back up out of this pit would be a burden. The radio, to my surprise, sparked to life. "Walter, I'm done," I merely said.

The radio, with much static, sparked back the next moment. "Understood. We'll be in right away."

I was tired. I set the radio down, and, on a sudden whim, reached for the cigar case in my pocket.

I'm sure if Alucard had been there, he would have pointed out to me that smoking, too, was a vice. But I owed him nothing now, not even my life. In saving my own life, I had saved him his freedom, hadn't I? Quid pro quo, and all that.

I lit the cigar from a wall torch, and put it to my lips. To my credit, I didn't even choke much on the smoke.

-end-


End file.
